[CLOSED] I hear my battle symphony

[amygdalae]

WHO: Bruce 'Fireflake' Not-Banner & Luwenna Coupe
WHAT: Passin' sum important information
WHEN: Before the dank AU finale
WHERE: Orzammar
NOTES: Questionable life choices, kids don't try this at home.

[So Kirkwall was a mess - not that it was surprising - but at least they managed to come out of it relatively unscathed and fine. Can't say as much for their target, but. It was probably a lost cause from the start.

Still, if what they got out from there was true... maybe all of this can be changed. Bruce isn't one to cling onto hope (can't, really, not when losing that meant far too much) but if in anyway what was found could help--

The problem was finding the right person to pass it through. At least he thinks of the people he did recognize - Granger, Zevran, Gareth - but remembers their reactions to him, and his own... difficulties with them. No, best to not give them more things to handle. Better to find somebody else he didn't know and pass all of this to them.

It doesn't take long for him to find that somebody - they do kind of stand out a little - and he goes to the first person he sees that he knows belongs to the time-displaced members of the Inquisition.]

You there.

[...its probably quite a bit of a sight when somebody with a lyrium encased arm and too many scars to count suddenly calls and starts walking towards you.]

Comments

[limier]

[ Her gaze drifts up to find his eyes at last: A measured look.

But this isn’t the time or place for a pissing match; he wouldn’t have singled her out if there wasn’t something that needed to be seen to. Whether it’s conversation, or some material task (the fucking barricades again—), there’s no point to dragging this out. Her agreement is a foregone conclusion. ]

Of course.

[ Wren gives a short nod of assent, steps towards him. She’s been hanging about the healers, but the time for healing’s done. Those wounded now shall not recover. ]

I am at your disposal, ah, Monsieur — ?

[amygdalae]

[Bruce doesn't so much as flinch when she finally looks at him, staying impassive until she gives her agreement.]

Bruce.

[His answer, short and curt, and after his reply he turns and starts to walk, fully expecting her to follow.]

[limier]

Very well.

[ She falls into neat line beside him, conscious to take the side of his untouched arm, to leave a slight distance between them. Close enough for words in confidence, and far enough that she needn't feel the straining hum of lyrium in her teeth.

Silence, then, until he’s ready to speak. It gives her time to review a list of names, of faces, to attempt to commit his own to memory. Bruce. An ugly fate — as though any of them are pretty here. ]

[amygdalae]

[Bruce keeps his silence, saying nothing of the fact on what side she chooses to walk beside him or that she's keeping her distance - in fact, she's probably wise for doing that. Bruce can't really blame her for her caution. He would do the same, in her place.

He leads them out of the main hustle and bustle of where the people are, heading out from there and in the direction of where he stays - pretty much one of the hole in a walls alongside the many others that are around here.

They come to a stop there, and wordlessly Bruce gestures for her to enter after opening the door.]

[limier]

[ Paranoia’s an old companion, brought close by present circumstance. He waves her in and something catches in her throat, sudden and unbidden —

(An unknown room, an uncertain guide, and most likely a single exit.)

— But it’s far too petty a fear, too rankly foolish, not to push forward against. Wren sweeps within, casts a brief eye to their surroundings in assessment. She doesn’t move to sit or lean, instead folds her arms behind her back, regards him. ]

So.

[ Conversation it is. She may yet wish for the barricades. ]

[amygdalae]

[There really isn't much in here - the place is spartan for the most part, with only some essentials and some cloth thrown over the floor in place of a makeshfit bed. No time for material things when any day could be your last.

What he does have though is a old and rickety table with chairs, although he supposes she has no interest in sitting down.

He doesn't respond to her when she speaks; he simply remains quiet as he goes over to said rickety table and picks up something from it--

A something that turns out to be a rather battered and well used journal, its cover dotted with dried bloodstains.

Bruce holds it out to her, still entirely silent.]

[limier]

[ Sitting is for chumps. ]

The source?

[ Wren takes it, eyes lingering on his. Briefly: And then she's looking down to the little book, mouth pulling thin as she opens it to skim.

She's been seizing information where they might (all those useless inventory manifests, how long she’d spent at that fool’s errand,) but five years have given them too many facts to easily strain through.

This isn't the first document that someone’s passed to her. But it’s the first from a stranger, the first unsolicited, the first given among quite such pains of privacy. What is she being asked to deliver? ]

[amygdalae]

[The contents of the book are.

Well.

Interesting, to put it mildly.

Namely, the journal (which had a ciper but has since been broken and the contents written out for easier reading) mostly speaks of time travel research - or rather, the study to bring somebody forward in time.

More specifically, the Herald of Andraste.]

The magister who helped you in Kirkwall. [Bruce says after giving her a few minutes to do that skimming, so that she has some time to fully process the importance of this knowledge. Or at least, he hopes she sees it. (She had better see it.)] My team was tasked with bringing him back, but he was dead by the time we found him.

[limier]

[ Whoever’s cracked the cipher has a dab hand. She’d have been no use at it. But then she’s reading, and it's a breath longer before she’s comprehending, because this is rather a cut above tactics or talk or a diarist's accounting of time. This is, ]

Motherfucker.

[ She hisses. Wren snaps the book closed and holds it at a slight distance, as though some venomous snake. They're fighting a war in more than one direction, and it was already strange enough. This is — this shouldn’t be. Cannot be allowed to be.

Is. If the Imperium figured this out once, they’ll manage it again. May have already, for what little she understands. Wren forces her face into something resembling moderation, struggles to restrain the intent (fear?) in her voice. ]

Russo. Any collaborators?

[ It must have cost them, to return with this. But the man was a Magister, and there may be more to deal with, here and... before. After. Whatever. She's seldom felt such sympathy for book-burners.

At the back of her mind, Wren tries not to count the figures that have vanished since the Blight. ]

[amygdalae]

[For better or for worse, Bruce doesn't say anything and lets her have her moment to swear. He certainly could share the feeling when he first deciphered the journal as well. Bruce almost wishes he could say he's surprised, but after everything - all these years - he's just glad there's something close to an answer... or closure.]

None that we were aware of - and if there were, they're probably dead by now. [You didn't see the body. It was not fun.

Anyway. Bruce gestures to the journal, his voice still impassive as he speaks again.]

Read it, and keep that with you. Show it to the others.

[When you return are the unspoken words, but Bruce can guess she can guess as much.

Also if she does decide to skim more of it, the end will write of a successful attempt in Cloudreach 9:43 to bring the Herald over right before her death.]

[limier]

[ The 'raze it to the ground' approach to handling traitors. Unfortunate now, a blessing later. Poor torturer, redeemed; Russo must have known the sacrifice he'd be making, having carved it into others. ]

On my life. [ Her mouth twists aside, briefly wry, as she tucks the book beneath an arm. ] Thank you. The advisors shall know of it, this will not be forgotten.

[ Its acquisition, the men and women who fished it out of Kirkwall, who saw its importance — they must be, if any of this is to matter. The people they'd not become will live instead, will remember. Will have this small chance. ]

[amygdalae]

[Bruce certainly isn't expecting that kind of certainty but its -- assuring, in its own way. He nods once to show that he's heard her. It'll be good when that information gets over there. He isn't entirely sure how that will change anything, but... its there anyway, so might as well.

He's no longer one to believe in hope, but perhaps--

No point thinking on that.]

As long as they know. [And they can stop it. That's all that matters.]